Horror Stories are Illogical, Captain
by GothicCheshire
Summary: Captain Kirk is many things, bold, charismatic, daring, and, almost unquestionably, a genius. However, when he makes a certain Vulcan tell a horror story to the Bridge Crew and himself...he may just wind up getting a bit more than he bargained for.
1. Horror Stories

_This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when I read something and take it as a person challenge. Namely 'Spock was the kinda guy who would be able to take a horror story and make it boring.' Me being me, I decided, 'hmm...I'm not too sure about that'. So, what you see is another tale of horror and intrigue, only this time, with Spock as the main narrator. With help from the bridge crew, of course, with or without his say so. Also, this is a tag on to the story 'Lost', now it's own universe, that I wrote about before. There will be references, but I don't expect it to grow beyond that. That said, hope you enjoy, and Happy Early Halloween. Part two should be up reasonably shortly, for once..._  
...

"You're joking."

"Nope, I'm dead serious."

"Oh, God, a pun, Jim, really? Was that even necessary?"

"We all need a pun sometime or other, Bones, besides, I think it's the perfect opportunity to make one. Seeing as how we'll be bored to death listening to this thing."

"I seriously can't believe you managed to get him to do it."

"It took skill, gentle care, and a deep knowledge of the one that I needed to get something out of."

"…Are you aware of just how wrong that sounded?"

"No, in my own little world I said nothing weird."

"Ha, there's nothing little about _that_ world."

"True."

The two talking, a Captain James T. Kirk, otherwise known as Jim, and a Leonard H. McCoy, otherwise known as Bones, walked down the hall with a smile on one face, and a look of disbelief on the other. The various officers they passed nodding to them and being nodded to in return. There were only a few who knew what they were talking about, and those were the ones who were walking behind them, snickering at the conversation, content to let McCoy handle the questions. Jim responded to him better.

"Seriously though, Jim, I don't get how you could manage to get him to agree to anything like that. What did you do?"

"Nothing like what you're thinkin, I assure you." Jim grinned, huffing out a laugh at McCoy's disgusted expression.

"Why the hell did you have to say that? Now I am thinkin' it!"

The laughter that left Jim's mouth was something that was relieving, everyone who heard it relaxing, the last amounts of stress bleeding out of them. He hadn't laughed in a while. He had been recently retrieved from being captured by what he termed 'puss-covered blobs of phlegm', if that wasn't enough to churn the crews stomach when they heard about it, what their captain had come back like was definitely another.

Wide eyed, bruised, too thin and shaking, jumping when a person came close, the light in those usually bright blue eyes gone. He hadn't laughed in the days since his release from sickbay, hadn't talked while he was in it. The only ones that had been able to stay with him when he was in sickbay were Spock and McCoy, and Spock had used that time to help bring him closer to reality. It was one of the only times McCoy had blessed that sibling bond. It was hard to like something that was born from such…evil for lack of a better word. He supposed that there was truth to the whole 'in the darkness, there is always a light' thing. With Spock's help he had gotten better quicker than anyone could have believed, but he still hadn't laughed.

They took it as a sign of him finally completing the healing process. He'd be fine.

"So, what's he gonna tell us?"

"Don't know yet, Bones, he agreed to it, but he said that he'd get to pick, or if he felt like it make it up. Well…something like that, he didn't actually say 'if he felt like it', but you get me."

"Personally, I think it vill be fun, sir."

"More than likely Chekov, very amusing."

"Can you imagine?" Sulu asked, grinning, his eyes getting that amused look to them that made the rest of them grin in agreement.

"This is insanity."

"'Course it is, Bones, what did you expect from this ship?"

"Touché."

"Here we are people, in."

They entered the empty rec room, minus a single Vulcan standing at the back, looking distinctly uncomfortable (for a Vulcan) with his form stiffer than normal, unmoving, and his head tilted to the side slightly.

"Okay, everyone, gather around Spock, find a spot on the floor. Spock, pull up a chair, or do I have to do it for you?" Jim grinned at him, the rest of the alpha shift bridge crew sitting on the floor around them, snickering slightly when Spock stiffly sat in the chair Jim had shoved over to him and realizing the parallel to when they had been in elementary school.

"Whenever you're ready Spock."

"Captain, I do not…"

"Hush, you promised, one horror story, scare our pants off."

"…I would rather you kept your pants on."

They laughed, "Come on, Spock, the goal is to scare us, not make us laugh."

"Captain, I must protest, this is…"

"No. You promised."

"Actually, what I said was…"

"No. Horror story. Now."

Spock looked at him with a perfectly dead-pan expression, his eyes reflecting his disdain. "Very well."

"_Who wants to bet it's drier than the planet he came from?" _McCoy whispered. He missed the way Spock straightened up with slightly narrowed eyes, watching as they snickered.

"This creature has many names-"

"_All of them scientific…" _Giggling and then silence followed that comment, followed by looking back up at him in expectation, wide innocent eyes attempted on the parts of Chekov and Kirk.

"None of which are pronounceable through voice." Spock continued, softly, fingers steepling as he spoke. "This creature attacks the mind. Feeds off of it, lives off of it, and devours it. This creature does not listen to begging, to pleading, reacting only with twisted words and lies. It follows its own rules, and destroys the ones who attempt to change them. Humans refer to it as Fear, but this is not what it is. Fear is a state of mind, but this thing is the cause."

"_Get to the point, dammit!" _

Spock narrowed his eyes slightly at the hissed comment and the sudden way they fell into snickering laughter. "She did not know why she had agreed to enter the house. She was aware that the thing lived there, but she was curious. As she was human, this natural curiosity was further heightened by the influence of her peers, who dared her to enter the house and stay for one hour. She would not have agreed, but she was unable to ignore their constant sneering and illogical name calling. The combination of bother, her own curiosity, and the realization that they would only get worse should she ignore them caused her to finally enter.

"The first step she took into that house marked the last she were to take in the living world, for the roof collapsed on her before she could make it past the threshold."

As one they fell silent, all signs of laughter and amusement gone, straightening slightly and leaning forward.

"Her peers ran to alert her parents, their panicked cries echoing in the night, but when they returned, the house was whole, and any trace that their friend had been there was gone." No one moved. "Years went by and the house remained, silent and empty, and yet no one returned, no one wished to buy the house, no one wished to live there. The girl was declared 'missing, presumed dead', and her 'friends' took most of the blame. The adults were aware of the way they had treated her, their methods consistent with what humans refer to as 'bullying'. They were punished and their families held them closer.

"So the house remained, empty, legends were whispered about it, but it was never torn down, the humans seeing it as some form of important tourist attraction. Beings who visited the area were always dared to enter it. Most of the time they declined, but one day a Vulcan came. The people considered it the perfect way to prove whether the house had a 'curse' on it, surely if the Vulcan decided the house was haunted it would be so.

"He was hesitant. He had no wish to enter the house and found their prodding's and bright smiles to be disquieting. He eventually agreed."

"_How…illogical." _Further snickers and titters followed the quiet statement, Spock's eyebrow rising slightly.

"The house appeared completely ordinary, if not old fashioned and worn down. They followed him quietly, watching as he slowly, gingerly made his way up the steps. As is the way of humans they attributed his hesitation to fear of what was inside, unaware that he was merely checking to make sure that the steps would not crumble under his weight. He was young, but they did not care. He was still a Vulcan and his word would be accepted.

"As soon as he crossed the threshold they breathed out a collective sigh of relief, only to suck it back in in a gasp a moment later as the door swung shut behind him. There was the sound of a lock clicking and then silence.

"The Vulcan turned to stare at the door, not bothering to try the handle as he had heard the sound of the lock click and it would have been illogical to attempt it. The door itself was solid and the surrounding state of disrepair made breaking it down dangerous as it would have caused the rest of it to crumble. He had also made an agreement. He would see what was wrong with the house, if there was anything, and currently…he was beginning to wonder."

"_Not a good sign." _

"The interior of the house was older than he had originally anticipated. The floor was crumbling in areas, the wallpaper peeling from the walls, once a golden color, now a faded grey. The remaining furniture was old and yellowed, the old-fashioned fireplace in the corner empty and barren. He was unsure why they had not dismantled the house. It was obvious that it was not just unsafe, but likely to collapse at a moment's notice. He put it to the illogicalness of humans and began walking through the house.

"The floor creaked under his feet, the house groaning and settling around him. He could hear the sound of the wind blowing through an open window in the upstairs floor. Yet aside from that there was nothing. No animals, no signs of anyone living in a house which would have otherwise been infested by such things as it had been uninhabited by humans for so long.

"Then he heard something. Somewhere in the house there was someone crying. Sobs and wails echoed through the house, confusing the Vulcan as he attempted to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. He hesitated and slowly began moving through the house, trying to find where the noise was coming from. He may not have been well versed in the art of dealing with humans, but he did know better than to leave what sounded like a child alone in a house like the one he was in."

"_Oh boy, child in a haunted house, never a good thing…" _

"He continued to try and follow the sobbing, looking from side to side in an attempt to give his ears a greater ability to pinpoint where it was coming from. He believed it was coming from the upstairs. He continued up the broken-down staircase, carefully and gingerly placing his weight on the steps that seemed to be able to support him. Eventually he made it to a long hallway, doors on either side of it, crumbling and the wood rotting away.

"He had been right, the crying was coming from the top floor, but he was still unsure exactly which door. Slowly he walked through, listening closely, and finally in the last door on the left he was certain he had reached the room that the child was in. He went to open the door, only for it to fall from its rotten hinges and collapse to the floor."

"_Oops…"_

"There was a girl in the far corner; she was curled up in a small ball, her hair covering her face, even after she jerked it up at the loud noise. They regarded each other, soft sobs still breaking the silence between them as she examined him from under her hair. The young Vulcan was unsure what to do, finally beginning to slowly walk forward, unwilling to speak, unsure if she would attempt to flee should he make any sudden moves.

"She tensed, her head freezing in place in a half tilted angle as she regarded him, watching as he came ten paces closer, fifteen, twenty, and finally he crouched down in front of her. She didn't move, still regarding him silently from beneath her black and tangled hair. It was then that he noticed something. There were red stains on her dress, red droplets falling from under her hair to further stain her skin and clothing. He no longer hesitated, 'Are you in need of assistance?' he asked, moving to cover his hands so he could touch her without any strong interference, he needed to think clearly.

"This was when she moved. She looked up at him, her hair falling away from her face to reveal its pale and sunken appearance, but the thing that made the young Vulcan freeze were her eyes, or rather, lack of them. Two red and bloody holes were somehow fixed on his eyes, and he watched as she slowly reached out with hands that he now saw were merely bloody stumps where the hands used to be.

"He backed away automatically, a reflex in the face of something that he did not understand, and this was when she spoke. 'My hands, she took my hands, she took my eyes, she took what's left of me. If you do not escape, she will take yours, too.' She smiled then, a toothless smile, her mouth bloody and her lips cracked."

It was then that the listeners realized that it might not have been the best idea to get the Vulcan to tell them a horror story. His voice was naturally monotone and the quiet discussion and explanation of the child's plight and the words she spoke was enough to send a shiver up their spines.

"He backed away, watching as the girl stood up, slowly walking forward after him. 'Sir, sir, please, don't leave me, I want to go home, I want to go to my mommy, to my daddy. Don't leave me alone!' She raised those arms up to him, imploring him, begging him, but he was unsure what to do, how sincere. That smile was still on her face, a twisted bloody thing that had made others before him fall into despairing fear, quivering at the sight of her.

"He made it to the door and slowly began backing out of it, watching as the smile turned sly. 'You're a clever one, wiser ones than you have attempted to take me home to my 'family'. I'll get you yet. I have you until dawn and I intend to play. Be careful my willing participant, the doors and windows do not appreciate being broken, they'll break you if you try!' She laughed then, an echoing cackle that faded into nothingness, just as she did herself, leaving the Vulcan standing in the doorway, unsure what he had seen.

"This house was not what he had expected..."

"_I'd hope not…"_

"Doctor McCoy, do you have anything to add?" The doctor started at that comment, looking up at him innocently.

"What? No, nothin' at all!"

"Then I suggest that you do not continue commenting, they add nothing to the story, and they are distracting. I have several experiments that I could be working on and have been overlooked to tell this story; I'd appreciate it if you did not constantly add your comments."

"I'm sorry, Spock, it's good, and I do apologize, just…keep it up. It really is interesting."

"As I was saying, this house was not what he had expected, there was something else here. Something he had not expected or encountered. A moment later and he heard the start of wood splintering and crumbling. He reacted immediately, throwing himself out of the room to roll to a stop just as the room he had just been in collapsed upon itself. Outside he could hear the sound of people screaming. He took a moment to straighten himself and categorize what had happened, attempting to discover what she had meant and who that girl had been. From what he understood about human hauntings, he had heard that only those who had yet to fulfill their purpose were able to dwell in these places. He had found it illogical and unlikely when he first heard it, but there were only so many logical explanations. Until he had a better grasp of what it was, he would treat it in the only way he could. With caution, and treating it as it wished to be treated. He would play her game."


	2. Are Illogical

_So, some of you may have noticed that I spelled 'illogical' wrong the first time this was put up. To be honest, I have no idea how that happened, but yeah...thanks for those of you who alerted me to it, and I hope you enjoy this next part. BE WARNED, depending on how the next chapter goes THE RATING MAY GO UP. My beta and I shall discuss after it's written and see. That said, enjoy. If you can..._  
...

"The Vulcan paused, listening, remembering that she had said she wished to toy with him, and deducing that she would lead him somewhere else. He only had to wait for her. He stood up slowly, recalling the treacherous nature of the house, and waited. He did not have to wait long.

"Soft and almost melancholy singing could be heard, echoing throughout the empty house. It seemed to come from everywhere, but he could tell that wherever it was coming from, it came from below. He began to follow it. Recognizing that he needed to play her game to escape.

"The room was empty. There was nothing there, the furniture was gone, and all hints that there had once been light fixtures were also gone. But that was not what caused him to freeze on the bottom step. The floor was also gone, but in its place there was something else. He could not describe it, but it was almost as though darkness and shadows had formed a pool where the floor had been, empty, black, something even his superior night vision could not penetrate."

The science officer paused, much to the confusion of those listening, finally leading to McCoy giving an impatient, "_Well_?"

"Just attempting to be sure that you had nothing to add," Spock answered, causing a few snickers of laughter.

McCoy threw his hands up. "Of course."

"Yet despite his hesitation, the singing never ceased, and there was no denying the fact that it was coming from that pool. But he had no wish to step into it. He walked along the step carefully, watching the emptiness and waiting for a hint of what to do. He knew it would come eventually, but he did not expect the method.

"He felt something, wrapping around his ankle, wet, and steadily thickening. He had a moment to look and see that it was a tentacle, and then he was yanked. His head cracked into the stairs, stunning him as he was dragged into the inky blackness. He was unable to move for a moment, and then everything went black."

The officers straightened, stiffening, listening to everything he was saying with bated breath.

"He regained consciousness, to find himself in more darkness, lying on his back, a damp patch spreading from his head. He recognized the copper smell of his own blood, and after taking mental stock of his injuries, realized that it was merely a cut, deep, but it had not cracked the skull. He slowly pushed himself upright, examining where he was. It was damp, dark, and had a vaguely musty smell that he recognized as belonging primarily to the underground level of a house.

"He stored away the slight feeling of vertigo, concentrating on slowing the blood flow to the cut on his head and began to attempt to find a way out. The room was circular, the walls covered in shelving and other miscellaneous items. There was no door, no way out that he could see. This immediately prompted him to evaluate the situation further, looking up at the ceiling and seeing the familiar, if not strange darkness. There was no sign of what had dragged him down there.

"His night vision was not adequate to see what was hidden in the darker shadows, if anything, but he was unwilling to venture closer. Then he heard it. Something that was unfamiliar to him as a desert-born being, but something he recognized all the same. It was the sound of running water.

"He looked up, watching that pool of blackness swirl and darken, even as the speed and flow seemed to increase. Droplets of water were soon falling from the darkness to splash around him, joining a puddle on the ground that was increasing rapidly, soon coming up to cover his shoes. He immediately began trying to seek a way out. He was desert-born; he had rarely been around water, the rainfall on Earth seen as strange and the preference for showers wasteful. But due to this there was one fact that was causing him to seek a way out quicker, splashing through the steadily-rising water as he did so: he could not swim."

"Well…shit." Jim realized what he had done a moment later and clapped a hand to his mouth comically, widening his eyes innocently and looking up at his first officer with a pleading look on his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! Just…seemed sort of familiar, that's all!"

McCoy smacked him on the back of the head. "Way to kill the mood, Jim."

"Yeah, this was getting awesome!"

"Gentlemen, if you do not mind, it is easily salvageable, and Leonard…as you have often 'killed the mood', I do not believe 'you can talk', as you say."

The laughter was instantaneous, but Chekov quickly shushed them.

"He was unable to swim, the steadily rising water coming up to his shins, slowly traveling up to reach his knees as he began to test his weight on the shelves, understanding that it was necessary for him to climb to reach the top, and get out. He managed to drag himself up them, the water not slowing and only seeming to fall faster. He needed to escape.

"The water continued to rise. He continued to climb, the water coming faster than he could climb, reaching his hips, even as the top came within reach. Then the shelf broke and he fell. The water engulfed him, closing over his head; he had had the presence of mind to suck in a breath of air, but it would not hold him long. He began to sink, his naturally heavier muscle density making it faster than usual, all fear and panic locked away inside his mind, even as he struggled to make it out, grasping at the shelving, attempting once again to pull himself up.

"Then he felt something, wrapping around his leg. He looked down into the darkness below, the inner eyelid of his eye providing a film that was surprisingly adept in seeing through the liquid, and met eyes with something that illogically seemed to cause his insides to freeze. Large, luminescent eyes stared up at him, rows of sharp teeth glinting in what light there was to be seen revealed as its mouth opened, tentacles reaching out to grab onto him.

"He was running out of air. He did not struggle. There was no point in struggling when he was going to die either way. He was pulled towards the beast in the water, letting himself go limp, the teeth getting closer, and then suddenly it froze. He watched the luminous eyes turn away from him, focusing on something else, confusion mounting, even as the cool of the water began to soak into him, freezing him past the shock. A moment later the tentacle released him; he saw why a moment later.

"An even larger set of gleaming teeth appeared in the water in a flash before they closed down on something of the creature's, blood gushing into the water as a shriek echoed, rippling and bubbling through the water. The Vulcan had time to wonder what it was and why it had done that, before he was hit by a flailing tentacle that managed to propel him into crashing into a shelf.

"The shelf buckled, but he gripped it, beginning to pull himself through the water, eyes focused on where he knew the top was. There was a further shriek, the water slowly changing its viscosity as more blood was emptied into the water. He could feel the watered-down slickness to it, just as he could see it slowly coloring the water around him. It was getting thicker. He managed to reach the swirling darkness that meant the exit, and pressed his hand upon it, only to find he could not get through.

"He pressed harder, finally beginning to beat on it, keeping his hand on the shelf. The breath that he had held for so long was hurting; he could not continue to hold it. He turned, looking back into the black swirling water, watching as the larger beast finished devouring the smaller, flesh melting and seeming to liquefy in the water. He felt his heart begin to speed up in his side and concentrated on calming it. He was almost too late to see when it turned to look up at him. He watched, waiting, and was ready when the thing launched itself at him. He pressed himself into the gap between shelves, the thing slamming into the barrier, turning to face him.

"Two red piercing eyes focused on his; he felt the buzzing on the edge of his consciousness. It was attempting to break past his mental shields, and it was strong. He knew it would not be long before it broke through; he could not concentrate on holding his breath and keeping the steadily growing and sharpening presence from entering his mind. Then it opened its mouth, sharp teeth nearly as large as his torso shined in the darkness, and then it began to somehow begin to sing.

"It was piercing, melancholy, the same sound he had heard before, bubbling and rasping in the water, and he knew then what had led him here. It reached a talon that served as a hand towards him, trying to reach. He lashed out, knocking it away, yet adding his own green blood to the water as it sliced up his leg. The thing hit a different note, and tried again. His lungs seemed to be screaming in their agony, and this time he let the talon come.

"It gripped him and he felt it pierce his side. He was brought closer to the thing, to the teeth, eyes closing, and he released the breath he had been holding. The thing squeezed him tightly, causing him to gasp involuntarily, drawing blood infused water into his lungs, choking him. His vision began to darken, and he prepared himself to let go. He knew then that he would never see his family again, that it had been a mistake, an illogical, horrible mistake, and he would pay for it with his life. Then he was thrust through the dark of the exit, and let go. He fell onto the wood of a floor, and he immediately began coughing.

"He vomited out water and blood, hacking and coughing, curling up into the fetal position as the chill in his body continued to permeate him. The cold seemed to be getting deeper, seemed to reach his bones, black water and his own blood spreading around him in a pool. It was then that he heard giggling. He looked up, blinking his inner eyelids back, meeting the bloody pits of _her_ eyes, his head falling back, listening as she continued to laugh.

"'You look like an overgown kitten that was thrown in the tub,' she said, grinning at him. 'So cute, so precious; I just want to hug you close.' He saw her small stump of an arm go towards him, but he could not move, her 'hand' stroked his hair, petting him. He could merely lie there, bleeding, feeling her stroke his head. He could not read her thoughts. There was a nothingness there, an emptiness that nothing living possessed. Even if she was an alien and naturally telepathic, there would have been a sign of a shield, of something.

There was nothing.

He closed his eyes, shuddering. 'Why did you not kill me?' he asked. She jerked her hand back, her mouth pulling into a frown.

"'Bad kitty, I don't want to kill you. You're too much fun. No one's ever caused Tommy that much trouble before. I want to see what else you can do, so I'm not going to kill you. Not yet. Remember, I have you until dawn. What's the use of killing you so soon? I'll see you soon, kitty; keep following the clues. Who knows? You may just survive.'

"He collapsed back onto the floor, quietly wondering if survival was worth the effort it took to get up. He was shivering, bleeding, and he was still wet. He was unsure which was worse."

This was the moment when Chekov realized he had been holding his breath and let it out with a whoosh, causing the others to jump. The immediate reaction finally led to the rest of them laughing. Spock watched the humans laugh and poke at each other with a raised eyebrow and traces of amusement in his eyes.

"Are you certain that you wish for me to continue?" The immediate loud protest made Spock flinch, the loud noise piercing his eardrums.

"Are you kidding? This is seriously one of the most epic horror stories I've ever heard!" Jim said, quieter than before, "Keep going, or I'll have you court-martialed."

"…Illogical, Captain; however, I believe I 'get the point'."

"Good."

"He slowly began attempting to sit upright, his limbs and body protesting, the scratches on his side and the gash on his leg making him stand up carefully. He took breath after breath, slowly calming himself, falling into quiet meditation and beginning the process to regulate his blood flow and heart rate, trying to combat the cold, as well as his own pain. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and once again waited for a sign of what was to come. He was now in no condition to attempt escape. Whatever plan he had made was discarded. But there was one thing that he promised himself, one thing that he was going to do.

"He was going to survive.

"The Vulcan hesitated for a quiet moment, listening once again for any sign of where he needed to go. His eyes locked on the window, narrowing slightly. 'I have you until dawn,' she had said. He was unaware of the time; he had not fully adjusted to Earth's time zones, and as such, his internal clock was slightly off. He could tell the time with the positions of certain stars and the moon, and he was aware that it was full tonight.

"He walked over to the window, examining the grime-covered state of it, and rubbed it clean so he could see out. There was a moment when he leaned forward, pressing his hand to the glass and attempting to see out, and then it shattered, slicing through his palm, causing him to jerk back, clutching at his hand. Laughter filled the air, as well as a voice mocking him in words that he did not understand, but he could understand their tone.

"He closed his eyes, took a breath, and began following the mocking voice. It was coming from upstairs once again, and he followed it sedately, trying to control a limp, a puddle of dark and green-stained water left behind his every step. The words continued to roll and twist in tone and inflection, giggling and light one moment, dark and raspy the next. The voice stopped in the middle of the hallway. He blinked, slightly confused, and then looked up. Directly above him there was a string that had a small ring on the end of it. The voice was coming from up there."

It was around this point that Sulu began a quiet repeat of '_don't do it, don't do it, don't open it, don't do it, don't do it…_' under his breath, mostly ignored by the rest of them due to the fact that a similar refrain was looping in their own heads.

"He examined the golden ring dangling over his head. There was little doubt in his mind that should he open it, there would be immediate and dangerous ratifications. He was positive of the fact that they would not be good, and would, in fact, likely lead to harm to his person. There was also little doubt that he had no choice. He reached up, his finger hooking onto the ring, and then he pulled down."

'_Crap, damn, oh no, oh no…_'

"Whatever he had been expecting, it was not for the sudden appearance of a corpse directly in front of him, followed by several more as it yawned open, bodies falling in a pile in front of him. Children, adults, aliens, each of them with a look of surprise on their faces, others crushed beyond recognition. A single girl landed on the top, her skull crushed on one side, a look of pain on her face. The smell was overwhelming, insects covering them and crawling on them. He backed away quickly, the unfamiliar sight of such things making him freeze. His fingers tightened into a fist, looking up at the attic, realizing that there was no ladder.

"'You'll have to climb the bodies, kitty; I have to show you something. Come up, come up!'"

"HELL NO, DON'T DO IT!" Sulu finally shouted out, breaking them out of their stupor and causing them to jump. They immediately burst out laughing, Sulu turning slightly red in embarrassment but grinning all the same.

"He froze, all signs of hesitation gone, fingers turning white as he clenched them tighter, the palm of his right hand oozing more blood from the wound. He immediately relaxed his hand, closing his eyes, attempting to relax his breathing and heart rate. He was emotionally compromised, and there was little time to meditate or control. He took a deep breath and let it out again, looked up into the shadows of the attic, eyes attempting to pierce it, and moved forward."

"He's going to do it, Hikaru." Chekov grinned, but they had seen the way he had been getting steadily paler the more the story went on.

"You are aware that you are both heavily 'breaking the mood', are you not?"

They laughed. "Sorry, Spock; it's either that or we run away screaming, and that won't exactly promote the best image to the crew." Jim gave him a wide smile then, Spock inclining his head quietly.

"Indeed. Very well. You may continue your commentary."

"Nah, we'll shut up, just…seriously. This little girl thing is freaky."

"Not to mention odd."

"Yeah, by the way…where the hell did you get the idea for it to call the Vulcan 'kitty'? It seems like an odd word choice to me…"

"Would you prefer for me to answer the question, or continue with the story itself?"

"No, no, keep talking. It's fine; I'm sure we'll get the answer soon."

"Very well. As I was saying, he walked forward, examining the bodies, and finally, moving his sleeve over his hand, reached out. His fingers brushed the topmost corpse, the bloated and rotten tissue spreading over his fingers and making him shudder involuntarily. The corpse of the little girl continued to stare up at him. He slowly gingerly climbed up, stumbling over one body to fall on two others. By the time he managed to reach up and grasp the edge of the attic opening, his side was bleeding afresh, and his leg was aching with a deep throbbing pain that traveled up his bones and seemed to continue up his spine into the base of his head. He was not as familiar with the Vulcan disciplines of controlling pain as he knew he should be, but he would not let this stop him.

"He gripped the edge tightly, ignoring the pain in his hand, and slowly, achingly, began to pull himself up. He felt something grasp his ankle and looked down to see the little girl staring up at him. She opened her mouth and began to sit up, her hold on his ankle tightening, her head turning to look up at him. It was then that he noticed something else- she had no eyes. Head after head turned to face him, each with the exact same plight, no eyes, hollow sockets staring up at him and mouths opening.

"The sound of rotten vocal chords attempting to speak is a hard thing to describe. It is wet, yet it seems to stick, the sound not quite able to escape the mouth it is locked in. This sound reached his ears, and he knew then that he would never be able to forget that sound. The girl continued to attempt to speak, pulling down on his ankle. He jerked it away, hoisting himself up into the attic, watching as they continued to reach for him, their faces attempting to use inefficient muscle control to form a different expression.

"It was only after he managed to close the attic door, that he realized that it may not have been a good idea."


	3. Unless

"The room was musty and dark. It was difficult to see, but there was something moving in the shadows. He hesitated and then walked forward, carefully, quietly, his jaw tightly clenched. It did not escape his notice that every step he took caused dust to rise. It was clogging the air and made breathing difficult. He finally had to sneeze to clear his nose of it, and that was when he felt something press onto his side.

"He lurched to avoid it, eyes flicking towards where it had been, seeing nothing, but hearing the giggles. 'Scaredy-kitty…there's no need to fear. Yet. I wanted to show you this. It's special to me.' The voice that echoed through the air made his heart pound faster, and this time he did nothing to attempt to stop it.

"Light flooded the area, his inner eyelid snapping closed in retaliation to the sudden brightness. It was not as bright as it had originally seemed. He recognized the light as candlelight, flickering and yellow. But the light seemed to change, turn a different color, a pale flickering blue that made him tense. Then he saw what the light was illuminating and a feeling of dread swept over him. He was done with what he saw as pretense and any elder Vulcan would agree with him."

"Spock…one question before we get into this; is it…kid friendly?"

"I am uncertain if I understand why this is asked."

"Ah, well…teenager friendly…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Will this give Chekov nightmares?" Jim asked bluntly, indicating the teenager who was as white as a sheet, biting at his nails, and had an expression on his face of abject terror.

"Ah." Spock examined the young man, his eyes piercing. "It may; however, I hasten to assure you, nothing from this story can harm you."

McCoy was silent, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Course not, but it's still awesome, and scary as hell."

"Indeed?"

"Yep, next year we're going to have you tell one to the whole crew."

"I believe that there is a problem with your plan."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I have an image to retain."

They burst out laughing, grinning at him, Chekov losing the paleness and smiling as widely as the rest.

"Mr. Chekov, you will remember that this is merely a story, and nothing that is mentioned can in fact harm you, will you not?"

"Of course, Mr. Spock, sir."

"Then I see no reason why he will suffer ill effect. May I continue?"

"You better believe it."

"Indeed. The young Vulcan stared around into the blue lit area, feeling his hair stand on end in a natural reaction to what was surrounding him. Jars rested on shelves all around him; a metal chair in the middle of the shelves had straps for someone's arms and legs seemed to be waiting for something. But the thing that immediately caught his attention was what was held in the jars.

"Preserved eyes, with the optic nerve intact, stared out at him from all sides. Brown eyes, blue, green, multiple shades, each floating in jars, different sizes and shades, and each and every one of them seemed to be staring at him. Waiting for him. He remembered the corpses then, the way their faces had contorted, what they had seemed to be doing, and realized it had been a warning.

"He backed away, illogically believing that the eyes were following his movements, and then something struck him on the back of the head. He was sent forward, falling on the ground, curling up in pain, his wounds seeming to scream their protests. He managed to roll over limply, eyes trailing up the being that stood before him. Tall, seeming to be made of darkness and shadow, yet with a distinct form. The little girl stood before him, grinning at him.

"'You know, I like your eyes…they're pretty. I've never seen any that were so black before.' She grinned at him, her toothless smile causing agonizing fear to sweep over him. Whatever semblance of Vulcan control he had clung to fell apart at the seams at the sight of that smile and the implications of what she was saying. He desperately began to crawl backward, forgetting about the chair that stood there, waiting.

"They did not even move, merely waited for his fear to drive him back far enough for the straps to grab him. He was unaware it was happening at first, until he found himself pinned down, metal straps joining cloth that he was unable to break, the girl smiling at him all the while. He found himself being forced to lay back, the thing of darkness somehow appearing directly in front of him.

"'I'm sorry, kitty, but it's likely going to hurt. You can control pain, can't you, kitty? Because if you can you may survive. We'll even replace them for you.'"

"FUCK NO!"

"Captain, such language is not necessary."

"Sorry, but…hell no!"

"Do you wish for me to continue or not?"

"Oh…" They looked around, at each other and back to Spock, missing the way McCoy's eyes were fixing more on Spock, calculating, judging.

"Continue," McCoy finally said, and the rest gave a brief whimper (sarcastic in some cases), before nodding.

Spock inclined his head, and began to speak again. "The young Vulcan heard her words and understood immediately what she was talking about. He felt himself begin to tremble uncontrollably, losing the will to control it, as everything began to hit home to him. He was trapped by something that thought of him like a toy, something to disassemble and destroy at a whim.

"And she wanted his eyes.

"He felt something grow inside him, unsure what it was, some…feeling, some…reaction that he did not understand. He felt that familiar, and yet not familiar, 'hand' pet through his hair again, the girl making soft cooing sounds, seeming to try and comfort him. 'It's alright, kitty, it's okay. It'll be all over soon. You may even be better for it. Your eyes are so dead. They're dead and hollow. We don't want that, do we? No, I think we need something…happier, not as dull. Hmm…'

"She began walking around behind him, and then he heard her give a small sound of approval. 'Very nice, wonderful brown color; I think these would suit you nice, don't you?' Darkness somehow holding two fully intact eyes were lowered in front of him, bloody and dripping with whatever liquid was used to preserve them.

"They were indeed brown. The perfectly formed spheres seemed expertly removed, no excess tissue with the optic nerve not merely intact, but whole. His own black eyes widened as they rolled slightly in that hand, coming to rest to stare directly into his own. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat, and while for a human vomiting is a sometimes normal and expected reaction when faced with such things, for a Vulcan it is different. For one, our hearts are placed in an area that can be irritated, or otherwise interfered with should we react in such a matter. For another, such lack of control was something he had always been told was unacceptable.

"This did not stop him from doing so, only due to his position he choked on it, gagging, before his head was tilted to the side gently and it spilled from his lips onto the chair. 'Poor kitty, you're so sick…it'll be okay; it'll all be over soon, I promise. Prepare him for me please. Thank you.'

"He felt himself be pressed down into the chair by two solid hands; his head tilted back and locked in place. He was unable to move it up or down, or side to side. He felt his own vomit leak into his hair, down his neck, his mouth letting words escape, pleading with them, begging them, even though he attempted to stop it, to control. There was no control.

"He closed his eyes, only to find them somehow pried open. A whimper left his mouth as he squirmed, attempting to break out of the straps, to tear himself out of the restraints, but it was impossible. He could not move. He could feel his breath catching in his chest, hurting him.

"His mouth tightened as something sharp slowly trailed down his forehead from his hair, cleanly passing through his skin, even though it was barely touching, a thin trickle of blood beginning to slide down between his eyes, itching. 'It's sharp, isn't it, kitty? It's better that way. It lets everything be much smoother, lets them be removed cleanly. You won't be able to move; less chance to destroy excess tissue. We wouldn't want that pretty face deformed, would we?'

"He gritted his teeth together tightly, refusing to let out any more pleas. He was unable to hold in a gasp of pain when the blade slid under his right eyelid, his other eye widening reflexively. His mouth pulled down, slowly twisting as teeth tightened. He finally couldn't help it. A whine escaped, his vision going blurry, even as his body began to slack, the whine turning to a hiss and the hiss building to a scream.

"'Shhhh, shh, quiet, kitty, quiet, you're alright, you're alright, it's okay, it'll all be over soon, it'll all be over soon.' Yet again something began petting his hair, even as he felt the blade jab deeper, and he gasped in more air, before he let it out again in another scream. It did not take as long as he had thought it would before the knife was removed.

"He could no longer scream, his throat aching and raw by the time they had managed to remove his eye. It was strange being unable to see anything on his right side, but he was able to see when his own eye was lowered in front of him, black and dripping blood. It landed on his chest, on his chin, on his nose, and he could feel blood leaking from his eye, trailing down his face. He was unable to cry, but should he have been able to he believed that this would be what it felt like.

"'Isn't it pretty? So wonderfully pretty. Beautiful and black. I love black, you know. I like your hair, too…but I think I'll just take your eyes. Your hair is too short. Take the other one, now…then I think we'll be able to replace them. If, of course, you survive…you'll even be able to see again.' He could do nothing but whimper, tasting the metallic tang of copper as it slid into his mouth, trickling down his throat.

"It was not long before the world was black, as his eyes once were, and he could only feel the agonizing twisting pain, and hear her laughing and cooing. He knew he was losing too much blood. His side and leg were in agony and he could feel the liquid pooling on the chair. He also knew that he was likely to die. He would never see again. He would never see his family, his mother, his father. Yet as he contemplated these facts he was made aware of another. He would not see anything ever again, should he survive or not.

"He was unaware that he was making a sound until he felt something begin to stroke his head, shushing noises sounding near his ear. He could only continue to make whimpering noises, something like sobbing. Then he felt something else on his face. It was gentle, careful, but he did not react. He could not react.

"He felt his lid be pulled back gently, and something else began being pressed into it. His fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, the foreign object forcing its way into the hollow socket. It was then that he realized exactly what it was. That eye, that brown eye that wasn't his, that would never be his. Yet it was. It was in his head, he could feel something, his naturally higher knowledge of his body and all its functions letting him know that whatever had been inserted into his eye socket was also attaching itself to his brain.

"He was finally allowed to close his eyes and he blinked; once, he could begin to see something fuzzy out of his right eye; twice, there were shapes there; a third, it was less blurry; and then he could see.

"Medically it was impossible, physically it should have been, and yet…he could see. Then he saw the other eye, lowered down, the lid of his left eye pried open, and the sphere inserted, the nerves and tissue sliding in first, connecting as it went. He found himself awed, unable to speak even should he wish to, blinking, and confused. Slowly he was levered into a sitting position, the darkness in front of him fading. He looked around, paying attention to every minute muscle movement, every feeling of his eye, from the contracting of the muscles of the iris to the shaping of the lens, his inner eyelids blinking as they attempted to clear away the excess blood.

"The straps released him, but he did not move, still shocked and confused as to what had happened, and why. Then with a giggle the girl draped herself on his lap, leaning up onto him to look him in the eye, and he knew the eyes that were staring at him out of those sockets in an unfamiliar face.

"He was looking at his eyes and the only reaction that was left to him was to scream. She began to laugh, blinking her eyelids rapidly as she grinned, and then placed a single severed stump to her chin. 'It's too bad it's nearly dawn; I really liked your hands, kitty.' It was at that moment that he lost consciousness, falling into the blackness of his own mind. When he regained consciousness it was to stare into the faces of his mother and father, and they never went back there again. But he knew that should he have returned there would be someone waiting for him, waiting to take his hands as well.

"And that, Captain, is the end of my tale. Did it meet your expectations?"

Spock was not given an answer at first, to his slight confusion until he realized that the entirety of the bridge crew seemed to be in a state of shock. They were pale and seemed to be frozen in place. He blinked, watching as Jim licked his lips hesitantly and then quietly said, "Yeah, met expectations…kinda beat them into a bloody pulp and spat on them…"

"I apologize; was it not what you had asked for?"

"No, no, I mean it surpassed expectations…"

"No kiddin'; I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, I swear," Sulu groaned, blinking.

"Sleep? Who's sleepin'; I sure as hell ain't…I probably won't be able to sleep for a week."

Chekov bit his lip and took a deep breath. "Luckily for me, I do not hawe to sleep tonight. I am due on ze helm. I shall see you later zen, yes?"

"Of course; see ya, Chekov, when you do sleep, do try to remember that it's only a story, okay?" With that final parting comment, Chekov stood up, nodded to his Captain and left. Sulu gave his farewell a moment later, shaking his head.

As soon as the two of them were gone McCoy and Kirk turned to focus their attention on the Vulcan. "So, about that story…that wasn't you in that story, was it? That Vulcan?"

Spock was silent for a moment, steepling his fingers together and leaning back in his chair slightly. "Horror stories are illogical, Captain, unless there is a grain of truth in them. Now if you do not mind, I have experiments that I must tend to. Gentlemen." With an inclination of his head, Spock stood up, and began to walk out of the room after the others, leaving the both of them with shocked expressions on their faces and dread in their minds. They watched as Spock hesitated at the door and then turned around to face them.

"I believe the customary greeting or farewell is 'Happy Halloween'...most illogical."

And then he was gone.


End file.
